Книга - At Wild Rose Cottage

At Wild Rose Cottage
Callie Endicott


Trent Hawkins won’t rest easy until his childhood home and the secrets it holds are finally demolished. So he’s shocked when a contract for its renovation comes across his desk. When the new owner, Emily George, refuses to sell, Trent’s only option is to take the job.Straight-laced Trent and free spirit Emily don’t exactly see eye to eye. But she’s not the flaky city girl he took her for at first, and before long her enthusiasm for renovating Wild Rose Cottage reminds him of better times. Trent’s first priority is protecting his family’s reputation. But the closer he gets to Emily, the less concerned he is with the past.







If these walls could talk...

Trent Hawkins won’t rest easy until his childhood home and the secrets it holds are finally demolished. So he’s shocked when a contract for its renovation comes across his desk. When the new owner, Emily George, refuses to sell, Trent’s only option is to take the job.

Straitlaced Trent and free spirit Emily don’t exactly see eye to eye. But she’s not the flaky city girl he took her for at first, and before long her enthusiasm for renovating Wild Rose Cottage reminds him of better times. Trent’s first priority is protecting his family’s reputation. But the closer he gets to Emily, the less concerned he is with the past.


Emily squared her shoulders.

“Are you interested in the job or not?”

He paused a long moment before answering. “Yes.”

“In that case, I’ll let you know tomorrow whether I’ve chosen your company to do the work,” she informed him coolly. “Is there anything else you need for your estimate?”

“No, that’s complete.”

She conducted him to the door and shut it behind him, relieved. Trent Hawkins might be near perfection in the appearance department—the perfect image of a rugged Western male—but he was also rude and pushy. She wasn’t sure she liked him, and was definitely sure he made her nervous.

Before he’d come, she had made up her mind that if the estimate was reasonable, she’d go with Big Sky because of their reputation. They really were the best. But now she needed to think it through again. It gave her a peculiar sensation to know Trent wanted the house for reasons he refused to explain.


Dear Reader (#ulink_cee6cea7-e5e4-57de-8c39-cd4ac5935c39),

One of my dreams is to buy an old house and discover a forgotten treasure in the attic, such as an artifact from the Titanic or a previously unknown Rembrandt painting. So for my loner hero, Trent Hawkins, I couldn’t resist pairing him with Emily George, a cheerful, new-age city woman determined to renovate his childhood home.

Trent isn’t sentimental about Wild Rose Cottage, as Emily calls it, but he doesn’t want a stranger tearing the place apart and discovering some of the dark, hidden secrets of the Hawkins family. He hadn’t known the property was for sale, and Emily won’t sell, though he makes an offer that few people would refuse. So when she chooses his construction company to do the renovations, he decides to supervise the job himself.

I hope you have fun reading At Wild Rose Cottage. Writing it indulged my dream of finding treasure, because while Trent and Emily don’t uncover a Rembrandt, they discover something worth far more…each other.

I enjoy hearing from readers and can be contacted c/o Mills & Boon, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, ON M3B 3K9, Canada.

Callie Endicott


At Wild Rose Cottage

Callie Endicott






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


As a small child CALLIE ENDICOTT was fascinated that little squiggles on the page of a book could actually tell tales of faraway places and people. So naturally, she grew up wanting to use those squiggles to share the stories she made up in her head. Callie is grateful for laptop computers, which allow her to indulge one of her passions and still write…travel. At the same time she loves home and her guy, along with her cats, walking on a beach or hiking a forest trail.


To my dad’s father, who worked with his hands.


Contents

COVER (#uf37dc447-0bec-5e05-9f03-5ac174d6bf0a)

BACK COVER TEXT (#u51dad5da-692e-5eec-a12c-4d0a3cf29b0f)

INTRODUCTION (#u034fc0c3-b0ec-5188-8ca3-0f659b46f22f)

Dear Reader (#ulink_6193091e-8fdc-52c0-b4a7-8d0f63bb0075)

TITLE PAGE (#u6eb99b6c-4af5-50ac-9cd8-f20b5f582d7c)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u6edb4190-a3a8-570a-8133-1a288490deb4)

DEDICATION (#u3ea53e64-76ac-5e6c-9a9e-bb153ef6f72c)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_00195aec-19b0-5a53-8c12-9e421110f6e4)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_4a472ba5-1a54-59e9-901a-f915c72fc2fa)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_29357fa8-158f-504c-8651-0fc54c32ac02)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_20c89a48-2ea4-5853-a848-67f2aa53f35b)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_0f2b308d-f847-5b96-997d-f7daaae0dcae)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)

COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_cd9560e2-ef33-5197-bd43-1dc6784e47c7)

EMILY GEORGE STROLLED downtown to her new store. What a treat to take a leisurely ten-minute walk instead of fighting Los Angeles traffic for an hour.

It still seemed incredible that she’d bought the Emporium. She’d passed through the town of Schuyler while exploring Montana and had acted totally on impulse. Of course, being impulsive wasn’t strange for her, but usually it wasn’t regarding something so huge. After all, people said she was the “smart George sister,” while her sister was the pretty one.

But four months ago she’d thrown caution to the wind and made an offer on the business. Well, it wasn’t as if she was risking everything—her shop in Los Angeles was doing ridiculously well. Even after hiring a manager, she had ample income each month to do whatever she wanted, and that wasn’t counting her savings and investments.

“Good morning,” a friendly voice called as she entered the store.

“Hello. Back already?” Emily greeted the woman who’d visited the shop the previous day. As far as she knew, it was the first time she’d met a member of the prominent McGregor family.

Sarah McGregor had spent two hours searching for the perfect present for her son and daughter-in-law, and they’d gotten into a fascinating conversation about the town’s history. Later her manager had explained that when Sarah and her husband got married, it had ended the rivalry between the two biggest ranching families in the area. Emily had instantly envisioned the Western range wars of Hollywood legend, but apparently it hadn’t been quite that dramatic.

“I thought you found the anniversary gift you wanted,” she added, “but we’re happy to take returns.”

“It isn’t that. I just kept thinking about how nice it would look in one of these polished wood boxes. They’re so elegant and simple. And I asked my son, the one I told you about... Oh, there he is.” Sarah stopped and smiled as a tall, rather forbidding man entered the shop. “Over here, Trent,” she called.

Emily’s own smile became strained. She’d made the mistake yesterday of mentioning her new house—desperately in need of renovation—only to have Sarah McGregor begin raving about her eldest son’s building skills. Emily had manufactured an excuse to duck out of the conversation, wondering when she’d learn to keep her mouth shut.

It seemed as if half the women in town had talented sons capable of tackling repairs. Plumbing? The dear unstopped my plugged sink in nothing flat. Electrical? You should see the way Joey rigged my broken vacuum cleaner. Drywall? I swatted a spider and knocked a hole in the plaster, so Carlton just covered it with masking tape and painted right over.

Supposedly some of them were licensed contractors, but Emily needed more than a mother’s say-so to trust her home to them.

“Are these the boxes you wanted me to check?” asked the man as he approached. He looked absurdly out of place in the gift store. It was a large building with high, old-fashioned ceilings, but he seemed too powerful and intense to be confined inside four walls. With his green eyes and dark hair, he made her think of Irish adventurers braving the seas for fame and fortune.

“Er...yes, dear.”

He lifted one of the wood boxes and turned it over, carefully examining every aspect of its construction, not seeming to notice the awkward silence that had fallen. A second and third box were inspected with equal care.

“These are finely constructed, all hardwood, and the price is acceptable for the level of workmanship,” he said at length. “I’m surprised you wanted a second opinion.”

Bright flags of pink appeared in Sarah’s cheeks. “You’re the expert. Let me introduce you to Emily, the new owner of the Emporium. Emily, this is my son Trent.”

Trent flicked Emily a cool look. “Hello.” If he was aware that his mother was trying to introduce a potential client, he wasn’t using charm to clinch the deal.

“Hi.”

“Emily just bought a house that needs renovation,” Sarah explained gamely.

“That’s nice. I should get back to work,” Trent said to Sarah. “I’ll see you at Sunday dinner.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead and strode out.

He seemed to suck up all the oxygen in a room, and Emily felt the need to gulp a lungful of air after the door closed behind him.

Sarah let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. You said your new place is pretty bad, and I thought you could get some advice from Trent. What did you say—that the roof was in danger of falling down around your ears? It sounds as if you’re living the Montana version of Under the Tuscan Sun.”

Emily couldn’t suppress a laugh. Her “new” house might be in even worse shape than a sturdy Italian villa that had survived centuries of use. “I suppose it does.”

Except for the romance part, she added silently. The character in the movie had wanted a man in her life, but Emily wasn’t interested in romance. And it didn’t seem likely, in any case.

“You should consider having Trent’s company do the work. Not that I’m trying to drum up business for him, or that he needs it,” Sarah added hastily. “He’s terribly independent—when he was starting the business he wouldn’t take anything from us. Not even...” Her words trailed and there was a hint of frustration in her tone.

Emily understood how Sarah’s son must have felt. She often wished she had refused a loan from her parents when starting her boutique in Southern California. She’d long since paid it back, with compounded interest, but they rarely failed to refer to their role in her success.

“I’m planning to call a number of contractors for bids,” Emily said, hoping Sarah would drop the subject.

“Then I’m sure you’ll call Big Sky Construction, too. Trent is the top contractor for miles around. Their bid may not be the lowest, but I know they’d do the best work. They don’t cut corners.”

Emily’s eyes widened. Big Sky Construction had a great reputation. “I hear good things about them,” she said in a noncommittal tone, “but I thought the company was owned by someone named Hawkins.”

Sarah nodded. “Hawkins is Trent’s last name. We raised my husband’s nephew and niece after their parents died in an accident, but Trent and Alaina are our children, the same as the others. We just didn’t think it was right to change their surnames when we adopted them.”

“I see.”

From what Emily had heard of Trent Hawkins, the man was formidable, and his construction company was in demand across a large section of Montana, thanks to the construction yards he’d opened in other communities. Yet in a way, Big Sky’s size and popularity was a potential drawback. She’d dealt with large companies and they weren’t always attentive to smaller jobs. Still, this wasn’t the city, so it might be all right, and there had to be a reason Big Sky was doing so well.

As if realizing she’d pushed hard enough, Sarah gestured around the Emporium. “Everybody loves the changes you’ve made. Until now we had to go to Billings or Helena for a really special gift.”

It was the sort of comment Emily had heard often since buying the large gift shop. Tourists were flocking in, but it was the locals who’d recognized the upgraded stock and weren’t shy about complimenting her choices. Their down-home friendliness was refreshing. Between her Rodeo Drive boutique and the people she knew in the fashion industry, she’d spent too much of her life with men and women who knew they were beautiful and subtly lorded it over anyone whose birthright didn’t include a gorgeous face and body...and they hadn’t always been subtle.

Emily squirmed at the thought. Maybe she’d been the problem; in a way she had always felt like a fraud running a boutique when she wasn’t that interested in clothes and makeup. A gift shop specializing in Montana products was a much better fit, though being a city gal, her move to a small town in Montana seemed just short of crazy, even to her. Still, crazy or not, she’d needed the change after ending her engagement to a cheating skunk.

“How do you like Schuyler?” Sarah asked after making her purchase.

It was another query Emily had received numerous times. Folks were friendly and while they couldn’t possibly know everyone in town, they seemed aware that she was a newcomer.

“I love it here.”

Sarah tucked the credit card receipt into her purse. “I hope you feel that way after dealing with your disastrous house.”

“Me, too, but something about it called my name. I couldn’t resist.”

* * *

AS THE MORNING wore on, Emily stewed about the home she’d bought. Sarah McGregor’s remarks about her son’s construction business had made her realize she shouldn’t wait any longer to find a company to do the renovations. It could take a while to decide on the right contractor and get them to schedule Wild Rose Cottage, her name for the neglected Arts and Crafts–style house.

After her employees had taken their lunch breaks, Emily returned home, determined to start setting up appointments to get bids on the renovations. Stopping on the front walk, she wondered if she had been a little insane to buy it. The place needed a new roof and windows, a full paint job, the front porch replaced...and that was only on the outside. 320 Meadowlark Lane had suffered from over forty years of careless renters.

She’d driven by it often since moving to Schuyler, feeling drawn to the house, then a month ago had spotted a for-sale sign on its weedy lawn. After a quick look inside, she’d purchased it the following day...possibly the second-most-impulsive decision of her life.

Emily didn’t admit it to most people, but she often got feelings about places; she felt as if this one had a sad history and deserved a brighter future. Besides, the house had actual wild roses growing up its trellises. How could you beat that?

Inside, she grabbed a phone book and thumbed through to the small contractor’s section, then checked online. The sensible way was to get competing bids, compare reputations and decide on the best company to do the job. After she’d made a number of appointments, she sat down with a notebook. To compare the bids they would have to cover the same specific pieces of work, so she began to write down everything she wanted done.

It was a long list.

Over the next few days she interviewed several contractors. Trent Hawkins’ representative from Big Sky brought a printed record of recent jobs they’d completed, phone numbers for each client recommendation and copies of letters from satisfied customers. It had seemed like overkill until she’d asked for references from a different company. He’d dragged his feet before finally giving her a few names. Another one promised to email a list, but after five days and two calls, she had stopped hoping it would come.

One bright note had come out of the meetings. The consensus of everyone who’d looked at the house was that it was structurally sound.

Six days after her interviews she had jumbled estimates from two of the contractors. Nothing from Big Sky, though the representative had said it might take up to ten days to ensure it was thorough. Plus, an estimate required final approval from his boss.

It was a good thing she was a patient woman. A fleeting thought of Dennis crossed her mind and she shrugged. Actually, she’d had too much patience in that regard, but at least she’d learned her lesson.

* * *

LATE THE FOLLOWING Wednesday morning Trent drove to the construction yard, tired but satisfied. One of his mares had foaled in the middle of the night and he’d stayed with her to be sure everything went well. He didn’t consider himself a rancher like the McGregor side of the family, but when the Balderdash Ranch had come up for sale, he’d decided to indulge himself. The Balderdash was small, more of a hobby ranch than anything, but it had enough land for horses and a few head of cattle.

Of course, the house wasn’t much, but “home” didn’t have much meaning for him. For years he’d lived in a back room at the construction yard. He could get by as long as he had basic bathroom facilities, a microwave and a mattress.

And since the Balderdash was adjacent to his cousin’s spread, he could ride for miles without having to stop and speak with anyone. Around Schuyler nobody objected if you rode on their land so long as you closed gates behind you, but he preferred solitude and Jackson’s hands knew to leave him alone.

“Alaina told us about the foal. Aren’t you handing out cigars?” the yard foreman called as Trent swung out of the truck and started for the office.

“I’ll bring two when the next one comes,” Trent promised. He walked toward the structure that had replaced the rickety building he’d used when starting the business. The older structure had served his purposes, but a well-built administrative center was good advertising.

When he’d called Alaina to tell her he would be late, she had told him there was a stack of estimates waiting on his desk for final approval, so he started working on them.

Now that Big Sky Contractors had grown to its current size, with five satellite construction yards, he had a full-time employee who met with potential clients throughout their service area and put the proposals together. Kenny was good at his job and it usually didn’t take long to approve the estimates. But two thirds of the way through the stack, Trent stopped and stared at one for 320 Meadowlark Lane.

When had old man Webber decided to fix up the place?

Checking the estimate, he saw the owner listed was Emily George rather than Bob Webber. How did that happen? He’d asked his real estate agent to let him know if the house ever came up for sale.

Grabbing his cell phone, he dialed Garth Real Estate and asked for Steve Sheldon.

The agent came on the line. “Steve here.”

“Steve, this is Trent Hawkins. When did 320 Meadowlark Lane come up for sale?”

“It did? Let me check and I’ll call you back.”

Trent drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited. Ten minutes later his phone rang.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, Trent. Webber put the place on the market while I was on vacation and it was purchased less than forty-eight hours later by Emily George, the new owner of the Emporium. Who could have guessed with the state of the place?”

Trent recalled the young woman Aunt Sarah had maneuvered him into meeting.

“I’ve met her. While there was a mention of her having renovation needs, I didn’t realize it was the house on Meadowlark Lane until a few minutes ago.”

“I understand Ms. George hails from Los Angeles and is doing well with the old gift shop.”

“With a new business it’s hard to imagine she has time to deal with the renovations needed at that...uh, house.” Trent had almost called it a dump, which was accurate, but since he’d been trying to get the property for years, the description might raise questions.

Steve snorted. “It’s a terrible investment except for someone who can do the work personally—it’ll cost more than the house is worth. Maybe she’ll be willing to sell.”

“It’s a possibility,” Trent agreed. “I’ll see if we can work something out.”

That was the solution. He’d meet with Emily George and propose a business deal.

After finding her number on the estimate, he punched it into his phone.

“Hello?” Her voice was warm, with a pleasant timbre.

“Ms. George, this is Trent Hawkins of Big Sky Construction. We met at your gift shop a couple of weeks ago. There’s a matter having to do with your estimate that needs to be resolved. It would help if we could meet.”

“Sure. Anything to move things ahead will be great. It’s pretty grim living here under the circumstances.”

Her eagerness didn’t bode well for his cause. On the other hand, if she was already living in the house, it wasn’t surprising she wanted to get things going. But she couldn’t possibly realize how costly it would be to do everything listed on the estimate. Surely she’d sell once she saw the bottom line.

“I understand,” Trent said. “Where shall we get together?”

“Don’t you want to come to the house?”

320 Meadowlark Lane was the last place he wanted to go. But he couldn’t tell a stranger something he’d never told anyone else.

“That’s fine,” he agreed. “What time is good for you?”

“Later this afternoon, or whenever you like tomorrow.”

Trent didn’t want to wait another day. “How about today at four?”

“Terrific. I’ll see you then.”

It wasn’t terrific. As a rule he no longer met with customers; he’d discovered the business did better if other employees handled contacts that required diplomacy. But the situation was different with his childhood home, and he would do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

* * *

EMILY ENDED THE CALL, a little surprised by the conversation with Trent Hawkins. From what she’d seen and heard, he was an odd duck.

Oh, well, she wasn’t looking for a friend; she wanted to get her house fixed. But it was strange that the head of such a large company wanted to meet personally.

The representative from Big Sky had been extremely thorough and hadn’t anticipated any problems. Emily had contacted a number of their references and they were all quite satisfied. The conversations had taken a while, since a lot of them wanted to chat—something she’d learned was typical of people in Schuyler. Most said they’d never dealt directly with the owner of Big Sky. A few knew Trent Hawkins through community contacts or his family, but their vague comments gave her the impression of caution, as though they considered him a slightly dangerous enigma.

One retired schoolteacher had mentioned that she’d taught most of the Hawkins and McGregor kids in her classroom, but had never understood Trent.

“At first glance he reminded me of his father,” she’d said. “But Gavin was such a bright, charming man. Trent isn’t as...cheerful. Of course, losing his parents that way has to affect a child. It’s probably no surprise that he was socially awkward.”

Emily had found the comment irrelevant. Trent Hawkins’s charm, or lack of it, wasn’t important. It was his company’s skill and honesty that she cared about. Nonetheless, the opinions expressed by other Big Sky clients certainly jived with her own brief impressions of him.

The doorbell gasped out a disgruntled squawk at precisely four o’clock and Emily realized that was one repair that had failed to make her list of improvements.

She opened the door and though she’d already met Trent Hawkins, almost gasped herself. While she wasn’t short, he seemed to tower over her in the doorway.

“Hello, Ms. George,” he said politely.

“Uh, call me Emily,” she returned, taking an involuntary step backward. “I’m from Southern California. We’re informal there.”

He hesitated a moment before nodding. “Emily, then. Call me Trent.”

She led him into the living room where she’d set up a card table and folding chairs. That, along with the air mattress in the back ground-floor bedroom, made up her current furniture. She’d bought them in Schuyler since most of her belongings were staying in California until she was completely settled.

Trent barely glanced at anything.

“Is there a part of the house you need to look at?” she asked, his silence making her nervous.

“No.” He seated himself and she sat across from him. Pulling a sheaf of papers from a folder he pushed it toward her. “You can see from the estimate that any renovations will be extremely expensive. Some might even say prohibitively expensive. So I have a proposal. I’d like to buy the house. I’ll pay ten percent over your sales price and reimburse your moving and closing costs on a new property. There are some nice homes on the west end of town you should consider purchasing.”

Surprise shot through Emily. “Do you do this often?” she asked. “I mean, try to buy a house instead of contracting to fix it up?”

“Generally, no.”

She leaned forward. “I don’t understand. If you were interested in Wild Rose Cottage, why didn’t you make an offer when it was for sale?”

“Wild Rose Cottage?” Trent repeated, staring at her as if she was batty.

It wasn’t a new experience to Emily, but this time it bothered her more than usual. Maybe it was the other, less defined emotions in his eyes that were getting to her. It was almost as if he’d been reminded of something both pleasant and deeply disturbing. On the other hand, he was hardly a touchy-feely sort of guy, so she might be projecting her own reactions onto him—she’d always had an active imagination.

“That’s my name for the house,” she said, lifting her chin. “There are wild roses growing everywhere. Someone must have loved them. There are even wild roses etched on the glass in the front door. Anyway, supposedly I was the only interested buyer.”

“I didn’t have time to learn it was for sale. The property was on the market for less than forty-eight hours,” he returned sharply, and this time his mood was unmistakable—pure annoyance.

Emily restrained a tart remark. She had no intention of letting Trent Hawkins guilt her into selling Wild Rose Cottage. It wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t known it was for sale, and considering the state of the place, she could hardly have expected someone else to be interested.

“So what do you want with it?” she asked.

“That’s my concern,” he answered in clipped tones.

Her eyebrows shot up at the bald response. Then all at once he took a deep breath and smiled, except his smile looked more like a dog lifting its lip to snarl.

“I beg your pardon,” he continued, “that was rude. It’s simply that my reasons are personal and I’d rather not discuss them.”

While his explanation had begun in a more genial voice, it ended in the same tight tone as before. Oddly, Emily didn’t think he realized how he sounded.

The intensity of his gaze bothered her, so she dropped her attention to the proposal and started going through it, page by page. It was thorough and organized. The prices were higher than the other estimates she’d received, though not ridiculously so. She’d had more costly work done on her home in California.

“Are you saying that you aren’t interested in renovating Wild Rose Cottage if it belongs to me?” she asked finally.

“You can see how expensive it will be.”

“I’m not an idiot. I expected it to run high.”

Trent shook his head gravely. “Housing values in Schuyler will never escalate enough to make it a feasible investment, not if you have to pay a contractor to do it.”

Plainly he was suggesting that fixing up the house made sense for him, and not for her, since he wouldn’t have to pay himself for the work. But she couldn’t shake the conviction that he had another agenda altogether.

“I’m not interested in selling,” Emily said, her obstinate nature kicking into high gear. “I like this house and want to fix it the way it should be fixed.”

His jaw went tight and hard. “It isn’t worth the investment,” he repeated.

“This isn’t an investment, it’s a home. For me. And I don’t want to live on the west end of town. I enjoy being able to walk to my store in a few minutes and still feel as if I’m living in a nice neighborhood.”

He seemed to be breathing very carefully, perhaps controlling a deeper reaction. Anger? Exasperation? Hope? What was it about this particular house that interested him?

Since moving to Schuyler she’d heard a fair amount of gossip about the McGregors. They had piles of old money, some coming from Texas and Oklahoma oil. On top of that, Trent Hawkins was the most successful contractor in the area. He’d been in business for over fifteen years and had gone from a small operation in Schuyler to having numerous branch offices. 320 Meadowlark Lane could only be a blip on his radar.

Emily squared her shoulders. “Are you interested in the job or not?”

He paused a long moment before answering. “Yes.”

“In that case, I’ll let you know tomorrow whether I’ve chosen your company to do the work,” she informed him coolly. “Is there anything else you need for your estimate?”

“No, that’s complete.”

She conducted him to the door and shut it behind him with relief. Trent Hawkins might be near perfection in the appearance department—the perfect image of a rugged Western male—but he was also rude and pushy. She wasn’t sure she liked him, and was definitely sure he made her nervous.

Before he’d come, she had made up her mind that if the estimate was reasonable, she’d go with Big Sky because of their reputation. They really were the best. But now she needed to think it through again. It gave her a peculiar sensation to know Trent wanted the house for reasons he refused to explain.

But surely he would do a good job, regardless. Or rather, his employees would. It was just as well, because she’d rather not deal with the owner of the company in person again.

* * *

TRENT’S JAW ACHED with retraining his frustration as he drove back to Big Sky. He’d been certain Emily would sell the house to him. What kind of idiot hung on to a wreck when offered a profit after only six weeks of ownership?

It didn’t make sense.

By all accounts she was a successful businesswoman, and he’d offered her a sweetheart deal. She should have snapped it up, no questions asked.

Trent let out an impatient breath and tried to sort out his impressions of Emily George. Medium brown hair, and he thought her eyes were brown, as well. She was around thirty and attractive, albeit somewhat nondescript, with loose clothes that concealed her figure. A huge point in her favor was that she hadn’t come off as a single woman on the prowl.

She was stubborn, though. It was obvious from the way she’d reacted when urged to sell the house to him. He should have just told her that he’d lived there as a kid. She probably would have assumed he had a sentimental reason for wanting the place; she seemed the type to sympathize with that sort of thing.

On the other hand, she might have raised unholy Cain later, when she saw what he really wanted to do with the property. Besides, he wasn’t good at subterfuge.

His thoughts continuing to churn, Trent walked into the office and saw his sister.

“Hey, what are you still doing here?” he asked, trying to sound normal.

“I’m taking care of some things for the Firefighters Auxiliary. You said it was all right to use the photocopier and office supplies.”

Trent shrugged. “Sure, just don’t ask me to get involved with that silly bachelor auction they hold every year.”

“It’s for a good cause.”

“No, thanks. I’ll make my usual donation and leave it at that.”

Alaina looked wistful. “You’d make such a wonderful bachelor for the fund-raiser.”

For some reason Trent thought of their new client and how poorly he’d handled his meeting with her. Granted, by a purely business standard she ought to have accepted his offer, but he hadn’t been at his best. The loud screech of the doorbell alone had evoked a flood of sensations, none of them positive. And it had been worse after he’d walked into the living room. Strange, how clearly the memories had come back. And he hadn’t been there since he was ten.

“You’re forgetting my terrible social skills,” Trent told his sister.

“Then it’s a good thing you have me to run your office,” Alaina told him brightly. “I’m great with people.”

“True.”

Alaina was another puzzle Trent hadn’t figured out. Why had she come back to Montana? After graduating with honors from Stanford with an MBA, she’d been recruited by a large New York firm and had risen rapidly in its ranks. Then a year ago, when his old office manager had announced she was retiring soon, Alaina had begged Trent for the job, saying she was homesick. He wasn’t sure he’d gotten the whole story.

Nevertheless, she was terrific with people. She had all the social skills he lacked, though he worried that she let herself be too vulnerable and it was hard not being overprotective. Still, she had to make her own decisions, which Trent hoped would be better than those their mother had made. Why had she stayed with such a lousy husband?

Trent’s mouth tightened. He’d wanted to protect his mom as well, and childhood conditioning was hard to escape. He still felt the old instinct, the urge to rush in and save people, but he’d discovered that some women were willing to use those instincts to their advantage. It hadn’t taken long before he’d got tired of the games.

His sister looked at the clock and began gathering her belongings. “Much as I’d love to stay and convince you to get involved with a worthy cause, I have a meeting to attend. See you tomorrow.”

“Be safe.”

Dropping into his office chair, Trent pulled out the 320 Meadowlark Lane estimate. A lot of work was needed on the place and other things would undoubtedly crop up along the way. All of Big Sky’s estimates included a warning to that effect, and advised clients there was often a 20 percent, or higher, overage. His estimate consultant tried hard to check everything ahead of time—even doing a quick termite inspection—but something always got uncovered in such a large renovation.

Uncovered.

Damn.

Emily wanted walls removed. Depending upon which walls and how curious people were about what they might find, a lot of questions could be asked.

Trent rubbed his temples. It had been years since he’d taken the lead on a construction job. He checked on crews and sometimes lent a hand for a day or two, yet being the company’s owner gave him less and less time for work at a basic level. But he would take the lead on 320 Meadowlark Lane. That is, if Emily chose his company to do the renovation.

A cold sensation went through Trent and he had a sudden impulse to reduce the estimate, anything to convince her to sign a contract with Big Sky Construction. But it would seem suspicious after his offer to buy the place, so he’d have to wait and hope.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_95bdb9c7-2ab4-5d7f-86a3-127ec58b0546)

AFTER SLEEPING ON the subject and looking around the house in the early-morning light, Emily was almost ready to tell Trent Hawkins that he could have it after all. Then she saw an early rose blossom dangling over one of the living room windows and decided nothing had changed. Besides, with both of her businesses doing well, she could afford the indulgence.

At 8:00 a.m. she phoned Big Sky and the office manager promised to have the contract ready by the end of the day.

When Emily arrived at Big Sky Construction the following morning, she found the office building to the right of the gate. It didn’t surprise her to see that it was built to last, but the nicely maintained flowerbeds were unexpected—Trent Hawkins seemed a no-frills kind of guy.

The door opened as she walked toward it.

The woman holding it ajar smiled at her. “Hello.”

“Hi, I’m Emily George. I’m here about the contract on my house.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Alaina Hawkins, Big Sky’s office manager.”

Trent’s sister. He and Alaina shared the same dark hair and green eyes, except Alaina projected far more warmth than her brother.

Alaina took a sealed envelope from her desk and handed it to Emily. “Go ahead and take this home to read and digest. There are two copies. When you’re ready, sign each of them and initial the pages. I’ll make copies of both for your records after Trent signs.” The office manager grinned. “We’re kind of redundant at Big Sky.”

“I’ll read it here if you don’t mind,” Emily replied. “I’m really anxious to get this going. Until the house is done, I’m only camping out. A little of that is okay, but...”

“It wears thin before long?” Alaina finished.

“You bet.”

“You’re welcome to read the paperwork here, but Trent has to approve any changes.”

Sitting in the comfortable chair next to a small table, probably used for customer consults, Emily started reading the contract. She took a pad from her purse and jotted notes for reference. A few minutes later Alaina set a tray on the table; it held a steaming cup, with cream and sugar on the side.

“I thought you could use some coffee,” she said.

“Decaf?” Emily asked.

“Sorry, no.”

“Good, because while reading the most boring literature in the world, I need my potions fully leaded.”

Alaina laughed and went back to her desk.

Emily stirred a generous amount of cream and sugar into her cup. The coffee surprised her with its quality—she’d halfway expected sludge.

With a sigh she continued reading the legal-sounding language, though it wasn’t as complicated as some of the contracts she’d signed in Southern California. It was straightforward, providing protection for Big Sky and some for her, as well. That impressed her. She’d fought for similar protections in the past and had been prepared to do the same in Schuyler. But it wasn’t necessary. Everything her lawyer had said she needed was set out clearly.

One other thing surprised her. Trent had already signed the paperwork.

After two hours and three cups of coffee, Emily put her signature on the final page of each contract and carefully initialed the others.

“You can make the copies now,” she said, handing the sheaf of paper across the desk, along with a deposit check. “Trent already signed.”

The office manager’s eyes opened in obvious surprise. “Wow, that’s a first, but I guess he knows you’re anxious to get started.”

Alaina made copies and put them into a manila envelope, along with one of the originals.

Emily’s toes tingled. Before long she was actually going to see Wild Rose Cottage turning back into a home.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

As Emily opened the door of her car outside, a voice startled her.

“Good morning, Ms. George.”

She wheeled and saw Trent Hawkins gazing at her with a sharp, inscrutable expression.

“It’s Emily,” she reminded him, no longer sure she favored informality. For the first time she was realizing that polite titles could maintain a desired distance. Come to think of it, perhaps the infuriating, self-anointed mavens of society she’d encountered at her boutique would have had more respect if they’d had to say “Ms. George.”

“Is something wrong?” Trent asked.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked a question, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

Drat, her mind had gone merrily wandering again.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “My brain occasionally travels south when it’s supposed to be headed north. Of all things, I was considering the merit of polite society.”

“I see.”

“What were you were saying?” she asked, wondering if it was her imagination that he was so tense. He practically radiated the focus of a cat on the prowl.

“I asked when you expect to return the contracts.”

She waved the envelope Alaina had given her. “Actually, I stayed and read them, signed on the dotted line, got my copies and am heading home to assure Wild Rose Cottage that its neglected days are over.”

His eyebrows lifted a half inch, then his face smoothed. “In that case, the crew will begin work on Monday, Ms.— Emily.”

“That soon?” Her toes fairly danced in excitement.

“You seemed anxious. Is 7:00 a.m. too early?”

“Nope. The house and I will be ready and waiting for your guys to start.”

Emily slid into her car and he politely closed the door for her. She breathed a sigh of relief as she fastened her seat belt. Trent Hawkins may or may not have been suffering from tension, but her entire body had tightened as soon as she’d heard his voice. It would have given her second thoughts about having Big Sky do the renovations, but it was silly to regret the decision, especially so soon after making it. Anyway, it was probably the last time she’d see him.

With a business the size of Big Sky, Trent Hawkins would be too busy to think about a single house under contract, much less its not-so-memorable owner. Emily knew from experience that guys as gorgeous as Trent Hawkins automatically dismissed ordinary women. And if she’d ever cherished illusions about fairy-tale possibilities, her former fiancé had drummed the fantasy out of her.

Oh, well.

Emily shrugged as she drove toward the grocery store. She’d concentrate on the good feelings she had about her new house. It was as if Wild Rose Cottage had whispered in her ear and begged for a second chance. And its chance was coming even earlier than she’d expected.

That was something to celebrate.

* * *

TRENT WATCHED EMILY’S car disappear down the road and suppressed the adrenaline surging through his veins. He wouldn’t get to bulldoze 320 Meadowlark Lane into toothpicks, but at least had a chance to salvage the situation.

Turning, he strode toward the office.

“Hey, Trent,” Alaina greeted him as he came through the door. “Did you intend to sign that contract with Emily George before she saw it?”

“Er...yeah.”

“Okay. She didn’t ask for any changes, so it’ll save time. You never said somebody asked for an estimate on our old house.”

He hadn’t considered the chance Alaina would figure it out.

“You remember the address?” he asked.

“No, but Mom has mentioned Meadowlark Lane, so I checked and it’s the same one. I can’t recall anything about the place.” She bit her lip. “I wish I could remember something about our parents... I mean, our first mom and dad.”

“You were pretty small when they died. What...three and a half?”

Personally, Trent was relieved Alaina didn’t remember anything about them. He had few pleasant memories himself, though life with their biological father had taught him valuable lessons—mostly that people couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them get close enough to do it. Long before he turned ten, he’d known that he had to protect himself.

“You’ve got good memories from the rest of your childhood, right?” he asked.

“Sure, but sometimes I think I can remember the early stuff, though it’s hard to sort out what’s a real memory and what’s just something I’ve been told.” Her face was pensive. “Tell me a story from back then.”

Trent hated disappointing her, but he couldn’t manufacture a nostalgic tale when there weren’t any.

“There isn’t much to tell. I prefer the present. Who do you have on the crew schedule for next week so we can start on Emily George’s job?”

“You’re starting so soon?” she asked, clearly surprised. “I mean, there’s a four-week leeway in the contract and I thought some other jobs would go first.”

“The client is living under difficult circumstances until the work is completed, so I’ve decided to put her contract as a priority. And since the house is such a wreck, it gives us an extra month in case we run into complications.”

“That makes sense. I’ll have to see who’s available as foreman.”

“No need,” Trent cut in swiftly. “We’re unusually tight right now, so I’m taking the lead.”

Her head cocked in puzzlement. “You haven’t done that in years.”

Trent managed to chuckle. “I never planned to be more of a businessman than a contractor. To be honest, I’m itching to get my hands on a hammer again—I don’t want my skills to get rusty.”

“Okay. It will make scheduling easier. I’ll get a crew together. And I’m sure Emily will be thrilled you’re starting quickly. She seemed nice.”

“I suppose,” Trent muttered, sorting through a stack of letters Alaina had laid out for him. He made notes on several and gave them back to her before heading out again. Generally he tried to visit the various sites his company worked on at least once, so he had plenty to do before he could concentrate on Meadowlark Lane.

* * *

ALAINA WATCHED HER brother leave, both puzzled and sad. It always seemed as if there was an invisible barrier between them, and she knew the rest of the family felt the same way. She couldn’t blame them for being concerned—he was even more reserved with the rest of the McGregors than he was with her. And despite her hopes, working together hadn’t changed anything.

She filed the contract on 320 Meadowlark Lane, along with a pile of other papers. Until a week ago she’d had a secretarial assistant, but Tamara had come down with the intestinal bug going around...or at least that’s what Tam had thought. It turned out that after giving up hope of ever getting pregnant, Tamara and her husband were finally going to have a baby. But it was a high-risk pregnancy and the doctor had put her on bed rest.

Alaina was happy for Tamara, but couldn’t keep a thread of melancholy from going through her. When would she have her own happy ending?

She pressed her lips together and determinedly focused on the filing. The stomach flu making the rounds was nasty. It could take close to a week to stop feeling washed-out and rubbery—she knew from experience. They would have a challenging couple of months if it spread among the construction workers.

Studying her charting schedule and Emily George’s estimate, she began making notes. It was best to keep the same guys on a job, because it saved time and made the finished product more consistent. Fortunately, their usual summer employees were starting to become available.

A smile curved Alain’s lips. The school year had ended on Friday, which meant Mike Carlisle might be interested in a job. Picking up the phone, she dialed his number.

“Hello,” he answered.

“Hey, it’s Alaina,” she said.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked with his usual lack of charm. No, not usual; it was only usual since the accident that had ended his major-league baseball career.

“Are you free to join a construction crew next week?”

“I suppose, but I might have to work a half day to clean out my classroom.”

“Did you have a good year?” she asked.

“Same as always, I guess. There’s nothing new or exciting about teaching.”

That annoyed her. Teaching was a wonderful career. Kids were important and a teacher could make a huge difference in their lives. So what if a teacher didn’t get cheered the way Mike “Lightning” Carlisle had been cheered by his fans?

“How did your students do this year?” she asked, trying to be tactful.

“They passed their finals, so presumably they did all right. Where do you need me next week?”

With a silent sigh, Alaina gave him the address and reminded him to pick up a time card.

Resisting the urge to slam the receiver down, she sat back in her chair and decided to sulk for an entire five minutes. She only allowed herself one sulk-fest a day, being a woman who preferred action over just sitting.

Drat Mike, anyway.

As if she cared that he had a limp and never became known as the fastest base runner in major-league history. She’d been wild about him ever since she was a flat-chested, awkward kid and he was the star player on the school baseball team. The future looked bright for Mike—first he’d scored an athletic scholarship, followed by a major team recruiting him when he graduated from college.

Mike had really been going places. He was traded to another team for his contract two years later and adoring fans had called him Lightning Carlisle, the same nickname he’d earned in Schuyler. Then came that awful day when he’d dived into the stands to catch a fly ball...and never played again. After three knee operations he still limped, but the worst part was seeing how much he’d changed in other ways—he rarely smiled any longer and was as much a loner as Trent.

Alaina tossed her pencil onto the desk. She might as well admit that Mike was acting like a grizzly bear with a mountain-size chip on its shoulder. But that hadn’t kept her from moving back to Montana, hoping he might finally notice her...and feeling utterly stupid for doing something so ridiculous.

And, so far, zilch.

Damn it.

Of course, she could always return to New York. She was still doing freelance work for her company and they kept saying they wanted her back full-time. But she wasn’t going to give up on Mike. There had to be a way to crack his shell.

She looked through the estimate again on Emily’s house and dialed her cell number.

“Hi, Emily, it’s Alaina Hawkins at Big Sky Construction.”

“Don’t tell me, you aren’t coming on Monday after all.” Emily’s dismay was apparent, even over the phone.

“Not at all, you’re still scheduled,” Alaina said hastily. “How did you know a crew was coming?”

“I ran into Trent on my way out.”

“Oh. Well, I’m still figuring out who will be assigned to work on your house, but in the meantime I wanted you to know a chemical toilet will be delivered for the crew.”

“Ick. There’s a small half bath off the kitchen that they could use instead.”

“Okay, but I’ll tell them to clean it every day and provide their own soap and stuff. Personally, I wouldn’t touch a toilet used by construction workers—their aim is terrible. I make the guys working in the construction yard use one in a separate building.”

Emily laughed. “I’ll let you know if it gets too bad. Anything else?”

Alaina checked the notes she’d made when writing up the contract. “I’m also ordering a large Dumpster. Is there space in the yard where it can go?”

“There’s room in the front or on the driveway. It’s wide and I can always park somewhere else if necessary.”

They finished their call and Alaina went back to thinking about ways to catch Mike’s attention. You’d think in such a small town they’d run into each other more. Nevertheless, she was determined to come up with a workable plan, which shouldn’t be impossible for a woman who’d earned an MBA.

But she had an idea. Mike would be a great addition to the annual auction for a “dinner with a bachelor or bachelorette.”

She planned on making sure she was the committee member who approached him...and still needed to figure out the right way to ask. Everyone knew where he lived and it shouldn’t be difficult to come up with excuses to visit the Meadowlark Lane job site, either. He couldn’t duck her that easily at work, and any contact with him would be better than nothing. Besides, she wanted to visit the house and see if it jogged any memories.

Pleased with her new plan, Alaina grabbed her pencil again and returned to the scheduling chart.

Okay, she’d put Mike on the crew, along with Eduardo, Vince and Caveman...she erased Caveman and wrote Chuck. Chuck was a caveman, but her brother didn’t think it looked professional to have nicknames on the official schedule. With those guys and Trent, they’d be able to handle the range of work required. Emily needed everything from a new roof to all-new plumbing, along with a restoration specialist to help preserve the historic character of the classic Arts and Crafts–style architecture.

Oh.

Alaina blinked. Perhaps that was why Trent had decided to be the foreman...he was an expert at restoration. But it was still strange that he was moving so fast on the job. As for taking the lead? He’d made it sound as if he did nothing except push paper. Hardly. Maybe he didn’t wield tools all day, every day, but did go out and work alongside everyone else when needed.

With any other guy, Alaina might have thought he wanted to impress the client, but Emily wasn’t Trent’s type—he went for flashy women who were okay with short-term affairs, the same as her brother Josh. Her other brother, Jackson, had been the same...until he’d met an old flame from high school and got knocked on his ass. Kayla had been good for Jackson, but Alaina didn’t expect Josh or Trent to change—lightning didn’t strike that often.

Perhaps Trent was handing the job this way simply because it was their childhood home and he wanted to be there to fix it up. Well...it would be nice to think so, but that didn’t sound like him, either.

* * *

EMILY BOUGHT GROCERIES, then couldn’t resist stopping at the hardware store to look at paint samples. She had always loved the paint department at home improvement centers...the rows and rows of swatches ranging from light to dark. You could practically get drunk on all the color. And she could pick anything she wanted. One of the hard parts of selecting stock for her boutique was restricting her choices to the “fashionable” colors for that season.

“Shopping for paint again?” asked a pleasant voice.

Turning, Emily saw the woman who’d helped her on several prior occasions. The clerk had been knowledgeable and patient...the way someone was patient with an impulsive child. Emily was used to that. Most people thought she was quirky and “New Age-ish,” though she wasn’t sure that Schuyler was in tune to New Age culture. That was fine; she disliked labels.

“Is there something I can do for you?” the clerk prompted.

Emily jumped. Cripes, she’d let her mind wander into never-never land again.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I’m really excited today.”

“Let me guess...you decided to paint the Emporium a different color than the one you finally selected.”

Emily made a face. Picking the right color for the interior of the gift shop had taken a while. She’d gotten the paint tinted, only to change her mind. So she’d bought more paint. But her final choice had turned out great, so it was worth it, and she’d donated her original purchase to a local church, so that had worked out equally as well.

“Nope,” she said, “but I’m starting all over again, this time for my new house.”

“Congratulations.”

Beaming, Emily turned back to the paint samples. “It’s like being at Disneyland,” she said. “All the colors and possibilities are spread out in front of me. The renovations haven’t even started, so it’s a long way from getting painted, but I thought I’d get sample strips.”

After picking out a huge selection of color samples, Emily headed home to start thumbtacking them to the walls.

“Don’t worry,” she assured the house, “better days are coming.”

* * *

ON MONDAY MORNING Emily couldn’t believe that she’d overslept when she woke up at 6:30 a.m. Of course, she’d been working at her computer until after 3:00 a.m., so that probably explained it. The Big Sky crew was arriving soon, so she bounced out of bed and dressed fast. The doorbell squawked and she ran barefoot to open the door.

Trent Hawkins stood on the porch.

“Uh, hi,” she said. “Is something wrong? Oh, don’t tell me your crew can’t start today. I mean, I know you have four extra weeks, but...well, if you can’t, you can’t. When—”

He held a hand up and Emily stopped talking. She knew she was babbling, but it had been a huge shock to see him.

“We’re still starting today and the rest of the crew will be here shortly,” Trent told her.

“The rest of the crew?” she repeated, foggy from her short night of sleep.

“I can’t do it all myself.”

“But I didn’t think you’d be working here.” Emily stopped, realizing how dismayed she’d sounded. “I mean, you own the company and must have other things to do.”

If Trent had recognized how she felt, nothing showed on his face. “This is the busy season for construction companies, so I’m taking the lead on this job. But don’t be concerned. I’m fully qualified.”

“It isn’t that.”

Emily didn’t doubt his qualifications—she just didn’t want him around. So far he’d acted rude and pushy. Of course, she shouldn’t assume rude and pushy was his true personality...he might be chauvinistic, bad-tempered and obstinate, as well. While Schuyler obviously respected Trent as a contractor, nobody seemed comfortable with him.

Still, the renovations might get done faster if he was the foreman, and his employees would be on their toes under the boss’s gaze, so it could work out for the best.

With that conclusion, she stood aside to let him come in.

“Which area do you want tackled first?” he asked.

“Um...the kitchen is hideous. I barely go in there because the floor is sagging so badly. But I don’t know if I’ll be doing much cooking anyway, not with dust and stuff flying around. So start wherever you think works best.”

He nodded briskly. “We’ll hang plastic sheeting to help contain dust, but it will still be a problem. You might want to find another place to live while the work is being completed—or at least during the initial stages while we’re tearing stuff out.”

Emily shook her head. “Not a chance. The room I’m using as a bedroom is at the back and has a bath connected, so if I keep the door closed, it shouldn’t be too bad in there. After everything else is finished, I’ll move, and leave that room and bath free for the work it needs.”

“If you say so.”

She had a strange feeling he was disappointed and she told herself not to take it personally; he was just thinking about making things easier for his crew. Anyway, it was her fish to fry if she wanted to stay.

The doorbell squawked again and soon four more men stood inside her living room.

“This is Eduardo, Vince, Mike and Cav... Chuck,” Trent told her.

“Great to meet you.”

She watched as Trent efficiently assigned tasks.

Eduardo was a silver-haired man with a jolly expression. Trent sent him to examine plumbing issues. Vince was tall and skinny, with long fingers that carefully began removing the older light fixtures she hoped to preserve. Mike looked vaguely familiar, so she might have already seen him around town. He walked with a limp, but seemed quite strong as he went through the kitchen’s swinging door to start removing the ancient painted plywood cabinets.

The last one, Chuck, had a round, solid build. Before he went to check the basement—a dismal space that had never been finished—he nodded to her and said, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Everybody calls me Caveman.”

Caveman?

Emily tried not to laugh. He looked like a caveman with his bushy hair and beard, but she suspected he’d earned the moniker for reasons that went beyond his appearance.

Trent consulted a diagram on his clipboard and began tapping on the downstairs wall that Emily wanted removed. “There’s no need for you to be here,” he told her over his shoulder. “Why don’t you go out to breakfast or head to your store?”

She hesitated. “Maybe later.”

Despite the early hour, she could always find something to keep her busy at the Emporium. Breakfast also sounded appealing and there was a café near her shop. The dust and noise would be unpleasant while the construction crew was working, so it really didn’t make sense to stay. But Trent’s presence made her uncomfortable. While she knew construction companies were busiest in summer, she didn’t think that was the sole explanation for him being at Wild Rose Cottage.

Trent Hawkins had another motive.

* * *

AS TRENT CHECKED the wall, his gaze flicked over the spots he had patched as a kid. The house had been a war zone when he’d lived there. His dad would walk in the front door, drunk, and before long he’d start punching—furniture, walls, his family, it hadn’t made much difference to Gavin Hawkins. He’d been known for his charm all over Schuyler, but he’d never brought it home with him.

His mother had been afraid that people would guess, and that the landlord would throw fits at the damage, so Trent had learned to repair whatever got broken.

It turned out that holes could disappear faster than bruises. His first patching jobs had been rough, but he’d quickly become skilled at covering up the evidence of his family’s rotten little secret.

Now it was years later and a number of walls were scheduled to come down, along with all the crap he’d stuffed inside of them. But he wasn’t going to start while Emily was watching, so he went into the kitchen to help remove cabinets. They couldn’t be salvaged, having being poorly made and abused for decades.

Normally Trent deplored not being able to recycle, yet there would be a curious satisfaction in ripping them down and sledgehammering them into pieces.

He just wished his memories could be disposed of so efficiently.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_db19cc9a-22b2-530c-a390-92a36d4ca735)

MIDMORNING THE SQUEAL of brakes signaled a large truck had stopped outside the house. Trent went to look through the front windows and nodded with approval. Alaina had arranged for a large Dumpster to be delivered and it had arrived on schedule. He stepped out and gestured to the spot in front of the house where he wanted the container.

Emily had dashed outside as well and stood watching as the large metal box was put in place. She winced as a lilac bush was crushed.

“Sorry about that, ma’am,” the truck driver said when he came around to check the container’s placement.

She sighed. “I guess there wasn’t any other good place for it.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Let’s shift it out a little and the bush might come back,” urged the second employee, who gave Emily a broad, appraising smile. Trent had seen Billy come on to women often enough to recognize his typical moves.

Annoyed both by the delay and Billy’s propensity to waste time flirting, Trent waited while the two city employees shifted the container. It seemed unlikely the mangled bush would survive, but Emily appeared to appreciate the gesture. Then he opened the end of the Dumpster and lowered the wall, hinged at the base, to the ground. This way, much of the debris could be walked in and stacked.

Trent took the clipboard the truck driver offered and signed for the unit. Big Sky owned a number of roll-away containers for use at commercial building sites, but Schuyler required city-owned Dumpsters to be used in residential areas.

Billy was still courting Emily’s attention. “Say, are you new in town?” he asked.

“About four months,” Emily told him.

“Don’t know how I missed such a pretty newcomer.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

Her tone was neutral and Trent couldn’t tell if she was buying Billy’s line.

“By the way, I’m Big Bill Halloran.” He winked at her in a way that suggested the “Big” referred to more than his height. “How about letting me buy you a drink tonight as a welcome to Schuyler?”

“Thanks, but I’m pretty busy right now.”

“Another evening?” he pressed.

“We’ll see.”

The driver cleared his throat noisily, so Billy tipped his cowboy hat, climbed into the cab and the truck drove away.

“In case you haven’t guessed it already,” Trent said, stepping closer to Emily, “Billy chases after everything and anything female.”

He regretted the warning as soon as the words left his mouth. At times, his protective instincts jumped forward, despite his intentions to keep them contained. But Billy had caused a lot of damage in Schuyler and it didn’t seem fair not to warn a newcomer.

“Forewarned is forearmed?” Emily asked, still in neutral tones.

“That always seems best.”

“Sure.” She turned and headed for the house. Idly he noted that she was wearing a comfortable T-shirt paired with a light full skirt, similar to what she’d worn the other times he’d seen her. It stood out in a town where both men and women tended to don jeans.

Trent glanced at the roof. At appropriate intervals he could send the whole crew up there to work, giving him privacy for what he needed to do inside the house. Granted, it wasn’t likely that anyone would even look at most of the things inside those walls—they’d just shovel them into the Dumpster. But what if they did, or what if Ms. George got curious?

And then there was his father’s old handgun... If someone found that, there’d be questions and possible revelations that could upset a whole bunch of lives. He should have turned the gun into the police when he was a boy, but he’d wanted to protect his family. If he’d had more time to think about it, he might have changed his mind. But Gavin Hawkins had died and nobody could send him to prison posthumously.

Maybe it wouldn’t be an issue, though. The estimate showed question marks on two walls—including the one where Trent had hidden the handgun—with the annotation that the client was undecided about which to remove, so there was a chance it would be okay.

On the other hand, if he could pull the wall down and retrieve the gun, he’d never have to think about it again.

* * *

BILLY CHASES AFTER everything and anything female.

Emily tried not to be offended by Trent Hawkins’s blunt statement.

After all, he’d tried to be helpful by warning her about a local good-time boy. But she also couldn’t miss the fact that he’d seen no particular reason why Billy would chase her—she was classed with anything and everything female. Nobody would say that kind of thing to her sister, Nicole, or question why a guy would want her.

She stopped and looked at herself in the dusty wall of gold-splotched mirror tiles someone had once decided were a good idea for the dining room wall. Medium brown hair, medium brown eyes, medium height, medium everything... She wasn’t ugly, but she also wasn’t a woman Billy would kick himself for missing. Average was the best description, which should be okay, except that she’d grown up in a world where anything except drop-dead gorgeous was inadequate.

At least she has brains, her mother had sighed to her friends, often when her eldest daughter was within earshot. Paula George embraced the school of thought that it was best to be honest with your children about their limitations, so they wouldn’t develop unrealistic expectations. Personally, Emily thought her mother was just secretly embarrassed to have one stunning daughter and one who wasn’t, and wanted to acknowledge the contrast before anyone else.

Nicole was dazzling. Not that it had given Emily an inferiority complex...or at least not much of one. She was smart and by no means bad looking, but she’d learned that most people preferred the glamorous beauty her sister possessed...including her former fiancé. On the other hand, there were plenty of guys who’d said they liked the person she was, so she should be grateful for small favors.

Emily impatiently pushed the thought away and considered what to do with her morning. Originally she’d expected to leave the Big Sky crew to work on the house while she went to her store, but now she was rethinking her plan. Having Trent Hawkins on the crew made her wonder if she ought to keep an eye on things. It wasn’t that she believed Trent or his men would pocket stuff, but after he’d tried so hard to buy the house, it was strange that he’d suddenly decided to be there every day.

Of course, she would have to leave part of the time. There was no way she could stay in the house for the weeks it would take to finish everything. She’d go stark-raving stir-crazy if she tried, but construction workers started early—she could do stuff for the Emporium in the late afternoon and evenings, and work there on the weekends.

“Emily?” Trent said from behind her. “Can we do a walk-through?”

“Sure.”

Accompanied by periodic crashing sounds from the kitchen, she followed him into each room and described her ideas of what she wanted done. Upstairs, she hesitated.

“I think there should be a master bedroom suite up here,” she explained, “only I haven’t decided which two rooms should be combined into one. Your guy who did the estimate said it wouldn’t affect the cost, so I could take time to decide.”

She showed him the two sets of rooms she’d considered converting into a master suite. The ones in the back had a view of rolling, tree-studded countryside, but she got a weird feeling in that part of the house and the sensation intensified as she noticed the hard-faced way Trent studied the space. It didn’t help when an especially loud crash came from downstairs, making her jump. He didn’t seem to notice, so presumably there was nothing to worry about, though it had sounded as if half the building had collapsed.

“Are you leaning one way or the other?” he asked in a tight voice.

“No... I’ve even considered doing both since it would still leave three bedrooms on the second floor. I know that would have to be another contract,” she added hastily, “or an addendum to the first.”

His nod was short. “Yes.”

The last part of the house was the attic. The latch always jammed and Emily was about to explain, when Trent pulled down and then to the left, and the knob turned easily. How odd. But he was probably used to old fixtures.

“I thought this would make a terrific craft or sitting room,” Emily explained. “Or a play area for kids.”

“You’re planning a family?” he asked, his eyebrow arching.

“Not at the moment. Right now I expect to use it as an office. Attics are usually too dark to be living space, but this one is huge and has lots of windows, so someone must have hoped to finish it someday.”

Trent glanced around. “I take it the former owner didn’t bother to clear anything out of here.”

“Nope, but I’ve always thought it would be fun to poke around an attic filled with years of forgotten stuff.”

“You won’t feel that way for long. I’m sure it’s all worthless junk.”

Emily made a face at the back of his head. Trent Hawkins was obviously a pessimist, while she preferred looking at the bright side of things.

The tour over, they descended to the bottom level.

“Thank you,” Trent told her formally. “Since I’m foreman for the crew doing the reconstruction, it helps to have an overview.”

He disappeared into the kitchen and she peeked in to take pictures, wanting to make a scrapbook showing the whole process. Mike was using a crowbar to pull cabinets off the walls while Trent sledgehammered them into pieces. If it had been the original shelves and cabinetry, Emily might have considered restoring them, but at some point they’d been replaced by cheap alternatives.

The stack of debris grew. Trent grabbed an armload and Emily backed out of his way as he carried it toward the front door. She saw him walk it into the Dumpster.

That gave her an idea...there was something she could do instead of standing around watching. Grabbing as much as she could hold, Emily headed for the Dumpster. On his way back inside, Trent reached for what she was carrying.

“We’ll take care of this,” he said, his tone bordering on curt.

She stepped past him. “Oh, I don’t mind.”

“It’s best if our rhythm isn’t disrupted.”

Why was the guy so grim? For Pete’s sake, he could give the Three Bears lessons in grumpiness. Perhaps he realized how he’d sounded, because he gave her one of his smiles that wasn’t really a smile.

“We’re prepared for this kind of work,” he told her in a milder tone, “with boots and clothes that won’t catch on anything, and even if it does, the damage won’t matter. By the way, until we’re done, you’ll probably want to wear shoes in the renovation areas.”

Yikes. Emily had forgotten her bare feet. It just felt so nice not to worry about dressing like the owner of a fashionable clothing boutique. At this moment her suits, hosiery and high heels were languishing in storage. Life in Schuyler was so much more casual and comfortable.

“Whatever you say,” she said with false sweetness, not appreciating the way he dismissed her. She dropped the cabinet doors she’d been carrying.

Swiveling, she marched back into the house, but made sure to nod cheerfully at Vince since there was no point in taking her ire out on anyone else. He was examining the fireplace.

“Can any of it be salvaged?” she asked.

The carved mantelpiece was beautiful, but parts were crumbling.

“I’m not sure,” Vince told her. “There’s significant dry rot, probably from a leak at some point.”

Emily laughed. “That always seems like a contradiction in terms, water causing dry rot. But I sure hope something can be done. I’ve had visions of lining the mantel with pine boughs at Christmas, stockings hanging down. A fireplace is the heart of a room.”

“I suppose so,” he agreed.

She went to her bedroom to find her sandals. Much as she hated admitting that Trent was right, shoes were a good idea.

And maybe she should wear pants or something more practical than a flowing skirt, which she found more comfortable than most clothes. For a while she needed to keep in mind she was living in a construction zone.

* * *

TRYING TO GET into a better position for leverage, Mike positioned his strong leg and yanked at a stubborn section of the kitchen shelving. Pain shot through his left knee, a reminder of everything he’d lost at what turned out to be his final game.

Though he’d told reporters he didn’t recall much of the accident, it wasn’t true. He remembered every excruciating minute. Most of all, he remembered that there hadn’t been any need to make a sensational leap into the stands to catch a foul ball. It was late in the game and they’d been winning by a wide margin, but he’d done it to impress the redhead sitting three rows back.

When had looking good become more important than playing the game the way it should be played?

“I’ll get the other side,” Trent said, inserting his crowbar at the opposite end of the shelf. With a shriek of nails twisting out of the wall, the unit came toppling down.

Mike ground his teeth. When he’d started to work for Big Sky the previous summer, he had mouthed off whenever someone offered a hand. He didn’t need anyone’s help or pity. Then Trent had overheard and gotten pissed, saying he expected his employees to back each other up and Mike had better just deal with it.

He’d nearly yelled back and quit. After all, he didn’t need to work. He had his teacher’s salary and a large chunk of the money from his pro-ball days was still in the bank, but he’d go bonkers without having something hard and physical to do over the summer months...something real that wasn’t just make-work. Teaching summer school was out; it was tough enough being around hopeful youngsters nine months of the year.

So he hadn’t quit Big Sky or gotten into a shouting match. Anyway, it wasn’t that easy talking back to Trent when he was wearing his customary steely expression; he’d not only perfected a persona that would unnerve an old-time umpire, they’d also been friends since they were kids. Well...at least as much as Trent Hawkins could be friends.

He’d never been the kind of buddy you’d catch a movie with, or hang out with at the Roundup Café, admiring girls. Mostly they’d gone riding on the McGregor ranch, though Trent had spent hours pitching baseballs so Mike could get more batting practice. That was when Alaina had hung around the most, dutifully chasing after the balls for Trent to throw again.

A noise caught Mike’s attention and he saw their client picking up more debris from the floor.

Trent’s mouth tightened. “As I’ve explained, Emily, it’s best to leave that to us.”

“And I’ve decided that since it’s my house, I can haul trash out of it if I want to,” she informed him.

Mike’s lips twitched. Emily George had done what few of Trent’s employees had ever dared to do—contradict him. Seizing a chunk of cabinetry, she headed toward the swinging door. Mike glanced at Trent.

“Don’t say it,” Trent warned.

“Okay. By the way, I thought you preferred staying away from jobs for women...something about your personality being too abrasive?”

Trent’s eyes were impassive. “We’re really busy now and have crews out everywhere.”

“Whatever.” Mike quickly focused on his crowbar. It was obvious that Trent wasn’t working the job because he liked Emily. Not that there was anything wrong with her. She seemed nice and pretty in a low-key way, nothing like the sexy redhead he’d been showboating for that day. Actually, Emily was the sort of woman a teacher should think about dating.

Maybe he’d ask her out to dinner when he got a chance. He particularly liked that she was a newcomer. This way she couldn’t remember him as the local hero who’d come back a beat-up nobody.

* * *

TRENT BARELY CONTAINED his frustration as he watched Emily return and grab another load to take out to the Dumpster. At least she’d changed into roomy Levi’s and was wearing sandals, though hard shoes covering her toes would be better.

Some customers planned ahead and it was included in the contract that they would do certain aspects of the work. But it made him suspicious when they tried to “pitch in” after the fact. It often led to protests that the bill should be cut because they’d done part of the labor, which was usually about fifteen dollars’ worth of effort.

But his real concern had nothing to do with possible disputes over the final invoice; he just wanted Emily to leave everything alone.

He forced himself to relax. It was also common for clients to be so anxious to see progress that they tried to help, with no ulterior motives when it came to the final bill. Usually it didn’t take long before they unwound and left things in more expert hands. Besides, he’d much rather have Emily puttering around in the kitchen than doing it somewhere else in the house.

He hadn’t enjoyed hearing the enthusiasm in her voice when she’d talked about going through the junk in the attic. Would she be that curious about everything?

In the meantime he marched out to his truck and hunted for the smallest pair of leather gloves he could find. “Here,” he said roughly, thrusting them at Emily after she’d dropped another load in the Dumpster.

“No, thanks, I’m okay.”

“Wear them,” he snapped and returned to work, assuring himself that he wasn’t trying to rescue her, he was just preventing a delay in case of injury. He stuck a crowbar in the side of another stubborn cabinet and together with Mike, they yanked it off the wall.

Even if he couldn’t bulldoze the house into the dirt, it felt good to rip some of it apart.

“Hey, you can leave part of the work for me,” Mike chided.

“Huh?”

Emily had stepped back into the kitchen and was curiously looking their way.

“You’re going after those things as if the devil was chasing you,” he said.

“It just feels good to get back into the physical part of the business. I’ve been pushing too many papers lately,” Trent told him, picking his words carefully.

“If you say so.” Mike sounded doubtful and Trent wondered how much his face had revealed earlier. He didn’t like anyone to know what he was thinking.

Eduardo came through the door. “I’ve checked the plumbing, boss. It’s pretty bad—mostly corroded zinc pipes. There’ve been a few repairs with PVC, but poorly done.” He looked at Emily. “I see you want copper piping. It’s a good choice, though more expensive.”

“Thanks,” she told him. “Wild Rose Cottage was nice once and it keeps telling me it can be nice again.”

Trent swallowed a snort. She actually seemed to believe that nonsense. But he knew better, because if houses could talk, this one would surely explain that its day was over. Though...considering the things he’d hidden in the walls as a kid, the old place did have a few secrets it could still expose.

“Will it be possible to keep the laundry and the bathroom in the downstairs bedroom running?” she asked. “That’s the one I’m using right now. Also, I told Alaina that you guys could use the half bath off the mud porch.”

Eduardo nodded. “There will be periodic water interruptions, but we’ll try to ensure you have it at night.”

“Great.”

The bell sounded and Emily headed for the front door. Several minutes later she reappeared, Caveman following close at her heels like a faithful hound dog. A stack of four giant pizza boxes was in her arms.

“I hope you guys don’t mind,” she said, “but I was hoping you’d help me celebrate the renovations getting started.”

Caveman sniffed appreciatively. “We never mind pizza.”

“Then I’ll put them on the card table in the living room and you can grab some whenever you want.”

“Now sounds good. Time for lunch, isn’t it, boss?” asked Eduardo.

Trent checked his watch and was surprised to see it was almost 11:30. Because construction crews generally started early in the day, they ate lunch earlier, too. Come to think of it, he vaguely recalled everyone going for a coffee break, but he’d been too distracted to pay attention.

“Sure,” he agreed. Having a client provide lunch on the first day of the job wasn’t unheard of, but usually they were in financial shock after shelling out the deposit required by the contract.

“Sorry there aren’t enough chairs,” Emily said as she went back through the hallway into the living room, the scent of pepperoni, onions and peppers wafting behind her.

Trent hurried out the front door to his truck, muttering that he had phone calls to make. It was true enough, but he mostly wanted privacy to regroup. If Mike was picking up on his mood, it meant something was getting exposed that he hadn’t intended.

Great. Trent’s grip tightened on his phone. He knew he had a reputation for being as hard and tough as a polecat. Most people avoided him and that was the way he wanted it. An ornery polecat knew how to survive, and so did he.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_d468489b-cbf8-514e-9be5-ec9fc686a746)

EMILY TOOK A slice of pizza and sank down on one of the wood boxes she’d found in the backyard. “I didn’t know which pizza joint was good,” she said. “Hope this works for everybody.”

“They’re all decent,” Mike replied. “But this one averages out the best.”

“Yeah, they put the most meat on,” added Caveman.

The corners of Emily’s mouth twitched. She bit into her slice of Hawaiian and chewed happily.

It had been nearly impossible to treat her employees at the boutique to meals or snacks. The time she’d brought in a selection of fresh bagels they’d practically fainted in horror. Black coffee or tea had been okay, but even lettuce wraps had been regarded with mistrust in case they contained hidden calories. Ironically, she’d never required her sales staff to be skinny, but that seemed to be the only sort who applied.

“This is real nice of you,” said Eduardo. Caveman nodded, his mouth stuffed with pepperoni and sausage.

“I’m just thrilled you’re here,” Emily told them. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job. It might sound strange to say, but I think the house likes you.”

None of them rolled their eyes; in fact, they seemed pleased by her comment, and they settled into serious munching. Emily wondered why Trent hadn’t joined them and supposed he didn’t like to socialize with his employees, even on a lunch break. But that would be pretty snotty and the construction crew seemed to be on comfortable terms with their boss. Maybe Trent avoided his customers...or just the one who hadn’t given in and let him buy the house he wanted.

Aside from not particularly liking Trent, Emily couldn’t get any real sense of him. He was too hard, too humorless, too fierce, and he had too many secrets in his eyes—the biggest one being why he was strangely attached to Wild Rose Cottage. Could that be why she had such strong feelings about the place?

Surely not.

She didn’t have good instincts about people, or she wouldn’t have been engaged for five years to a cheater. Even now she couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized the truth. All those business trips Dennis had taken, always with an excuse not to take her with him? And how about the way he’d dragged his feet on planning the wedding? There must have been a hundred little signs she hadn’t seen...or hadn’t wanted to see. It was lowering to think she’d put up with so much for so long.

What kind of man decided to marry a nice “girl next door” type of woman for home and family, with the plan of having sex and fun on the side? She just hoped Dennis wouldn’t break anyone else’s heart in the future.

“Hello?” a voice called through the front door.

Emily popped up and found Alaina Hawkins on the porch.

“Hi.”

“Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, but I’m on my lunch hour and was curious to see this place.”

“The more the merrier. Welcome to the construction zone,” Emily said cheerfully. “Come in and have some pizza.”

Alaina readily followed her into the living room. “Hey, guys.” She glanced into the closest pizza box and took a slice of pepperoni. “I didn’t expect to be fed.”

“It’s a celebration for the work getting started,” Emily explained, noticing that Vince, Caveman and Eduardo appeared comfortable with Alaina. Mike seemed less so, but she’d already noticed that he was more reserved than the other guys.

The group ate an astonishing amount of pizza, but there was still part of a pie left to put in the wheezy old refrigerator, which had been moved to the mud porch.

The men went outside for the remainder of their lunch break and Emily turned to Alaina. “How about looking around? You can see how the house looks now, and then again after everything gets fixed. Whenever you like.”

“I’d love to. We lived here when I was a little girl. That was before...well, our folks were killed in a car accident, so I haven’t been inside since I was three and a half. I don’t remember it, though. I even had to ask Mom if it was the right place.”

Emily was surprised. Was that the big secret? This being his childhood home would certainly explain why Trent appeared so familiar with Wild Rose Cottage, even knowing how to open the funky latch on the attic door.

“It’s too bad that the kitchen is already partly demolished,” Emily said as they went down the hallway and Alaina peered through the door.

“That’s my fault for not coming earlier.”

Letting Alaina wander where she pleased, Emily followed as her guest went from room to room, cocking her head and half closing her eyes, as if trying to evoke long-ago memories.

“Gosh,” Alaina said as they climbed the stairs. “I was pretty young when my parents died, but you’d think I’d have some memories. Do you remember anything from that age?”

Emily winced. Brother, did she ever. And this particular early memory wasn’t something nice like a picnic or a trip to Disneyland. No...what she remembered was dashing across the runway and tripping a model as she glided out, wearing the finale of the fashion show.

She relayed the tale to Alaina. “It was horrible and the model was screaming bloody murder because her eye was turning black. I should have felt worse about it, but I kept expecting her to cackle, ‘I’ll get you, my pretty,’ the same as the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Alaina giggled. “Did your parents beat her off?”

“No. They were just as furious and the paparazzi were taking pictures right and left. Anytime I was in danger of forgetting, my mother would haul out those photos and remind me of what a mess I’d caused.”

“Why would your mother bring you to a high-end fashion show?” Alaina asked.

“Mom and Dad were clothing buyers. I visited fashion capitals like Paris and Milan every year until I went to college.”

“It must have been nice seeing such wonderful places.”

“Usually I just saw fitting rooms and expensively clad models.” Emily didn’t explain that one of those models was her sister, Nicole. “But when I was fourteen I rebelled and ran off to check out the Tower of London and see where Anne Boleyn was beheaded.”

“What happened after that?” Alaina asked with a laugh.

“I nearly got beheaded myself, but they finally gave in and let me explore.”

Alaina seemed puzzled, but didn’t say anything.

As they continued looking around the house, Emily hoped that she might be making a new friend. The hardest part about leaving Southern California had been moving away from Lauren, her best pal for over two decades. They talked on the phone often, but it wasn’t the same.

Alaina Hawkins was almost as pretty as Nicole, but she didn’t seem bigheaded or overly focused on her appearance. Not that Nicole was snotty, but despite them being sisters, Emily had little in common with her.

From an early age Nicole had spent most of her time on the modeling circuit. Emily, on the other hand, had developed a thriving business advising kids how to dress like her sister...and selling Nicole’s clothes when she moved on to the next size or style. Opening a boutique had seemed a logical step after graduating with a business degree.

“Wow,” Alaina exclaimed, interrupting her thoughts. “The view up here is terrific.” They were in one of the rooms where the windows looked past the edge of town at the land and hills beyond.

Schuyler sat on the margin of where rolling prairie gave way to the mountains, rising west to the continental divide. It made for glorious vistas, though Emily had yet to see a part of Montana that wasn’t beautiful. The whole state seemed designed for a photographer or artist, though she didn’t know how anyone could capture the breathless sensation of endless sky arching over vast reaches.

“I love the view,” she said, “though I haven’t decided what to do with these rooms.”

“This is the first time I’ve realized how fun it might be to remake a house.” Alaina gave Emily an embarrassed smile. “That probably sounds strange since I work at a construction company, but I haven’t been at Big Sky for long. Before that I was at an investment firm in New York.”

“That’s a big switch.”

“Yeah, I got homesick.” Alaina glanced around, a thoughtful frown creasing her face. “I’ll have to ask Trent which room used to be mine and what it looked like back then.”

Emily wanted to ask if Alaina knew why Trent was acting so oddly about Wild Rose Cottage, but decided not to say anything. While the brother and sister appeared to have opposite personalities, they might both prefer keeping certain things private.

* * *

TRENT’S HEAD THROBBED and he lay in the dark, staring at the moonlight leaking through the broken blind on the window. For two days Emily had tenaciously stuck close to her house, but surely she couldn’t stay away from her new business much longer.

He got up and turned on his bedside lamp. The mattress was high quality—he believed in a good night’s rest—but aside from a shabby dresser and the lamp sitting on an old wood chair, there wasn’t much else in the room.

The floor creaked as he went into the living room where he kept his weight machine. The Balderdash ranch house was old, but it wasn’t an architectural treasure... It was barely habitable. He could renovate it or build a new one, but he didn’t care what sort of place he used for sleeping. Mostly he kept an eye on whether any part of it was in danger of collapsing.

The family assumed he was just waiting until he found the right woman so he could build a home to suit them both. At least that’s how they’d talked since Jackson had married Kayla. Trent smiled grimly. It had been an unholy mess when his cousin-brother had discovered he had a teenaged son with his old high school girlfriend. Now that the truth was out they’d done the practical thing by getting married, and luckily, Kayla was a better sort than Jackson’s first wife.

Mom—Aunt Sarah—practically melted whenever the subject of Jackson’s wife was raised. She adored Kayla and was more anxious than ever for all her children to find spouses and have kids. How could he tell her that the thought of marriage left him cold? All he wanted was occasional good sex, with a willing woman who had no fantasies about happily-ever-after. Love and family? He’d leave that to people who still had a few illusions.

A lengthy session of weight lifting didn’t help and Trent sat in his easy chair staring at an inane television program. Anything was better than revisiting the memories evoked by working on 320 Meadowlark Lane. Actually...he needed to think of it as Emily’s house. Yet his gut clenched as he thought about her name for the place. Hell, his mom had called it Wild Rose Cottage. Wasn’t that a kick in the gut?

Fiona Hawkins had optimistically hoped that things would change in her marriage, and it had killed her. How unrealistic could a woman be? She’d been afraid to go with her husband the night of the accident, knowing how drunk and angry he was, but more afraid to refuse. The only right thing she’d done was leave her son and daughter at home—otherwise they’d all be dead.

Trent dropped his head back with a groan.

He didn’t know if Emily had idealistic ideas about relationships, but she was obviously another optimist. A shudder went through him; he didn’t care if she meant well—the cliché was right, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t go near her.

Trent clicked off the television and padded out to the barn. The animals stirred restlessly until they recognized him. Miranda, his mare that had recently foaled, peered over her stall door and nickered for attention.

“Hello, girl,” he murmured, stroking her neck with one hand and feeding her an apple with the other.

Trent liked horses because there were no pretenses with them—they dispensed service and affection in exchange for food and care. It was basically a barter system, and if he held up his end of the arrangement, they responded in kind. The only horse he’d ever had trouble with had been abused before coming to him.

Thinking of which... He approached Speakeasy’s box stall, deliberately making his footsteps heavy so the stallion wouldn’t be startled. Speakeasy stood in the back, regarding him warily. Trent had bought him at an auction a few months before, furious at the sight of his thin body and half-healed wounds.

“Come here, boy,” he said, holding out an apple.

Speakeasy pawed the hay, clearly wanting the treat, but unwilling to come forward for it.

With a sigh, Trent left the apple on a post and stepped away. He could work with the stallion, but it wasn’t easy. It would take time and patience before Speakeasy trusted humans again.

After several hours Trent realized it was time to get moving. Perhaps today would go better and Emily would spend the morning or afternoon at her store. That way he could send the crew onto the roof, leaving him to tackle the wall between the living and dining rooms. She wanted it cut down into a low divider to open up the space. If things went well he might even be able to retrieve his father’s gun upstairs.

But as the morning began, Emily showed no sign of leaving. Instead, she now wore sturdy new running shoes, an unfortunate sign she might be planning to stick close to home for yet another day. Vince noticed them immediately and grinned.

“They won’t stop a determined nail, Em,” he informed her in a familiar tone.

“They’re safer than bare skin,” she returned.

“Boots would be best.”

“Gotta get more Southern California out of this girl before I’ll be ready for boots. My toes like to breathe.”

Eduardo chuckled. “You’re too late for the flower child generation, kiddo.”

“Better late than never.”

They all smiled, even Mike, whose sense of humor had suffered since his accident.

It was disgusting. His crew was rapidly becoming fond of Emily, helped along by boxes of doughnuts and the coffeemaker she now kept filled on the card table in the living room.

The prior morning the crew had quickly served themselves and left. Today they’d arrived earlier than usual, apparently so they could stand around chatting with her. Without coming off as a surly badger, he couldn’t refuse joining them for a cup, though he ignored the pastry. And...damn, it was really good coffee.

Of course, Trent encouraged his crews to get mentally together before launching into the day’s task. It also fostered friendly relations, which reduced slowdowns from personality clashes. So it was annoying that the coffee klatch bothered him, when it wouldn’t bother him anywhere else. The problem had to be because he wasn’t sure of Emily’s motives in being so accommodating.

“Thanks, that’s mighty tasty,” Vince said, leaving his cup on the table. “Em, do you want to help me remove that light fixture in the dining room?”

“I’d love to,” Emily agreed enthusiastically. “Do you think it can be salvaged?”

“Converted, maybe. They never removed the old gaslight fixture, just cut off the gas.”

“Wow.”

“Wait,” Trent interrupted, then turned to Eduardo. “When you were inspecting the water pipes did you get a chance to evaluate the gas lines?”

Eduardo nodded. “Yep, but I want to double-check everything.”

“Good. We can’t take anything for granted about this house.”

“Absolutely, boss.”

The men departed to their various areas and Trent closed his eyes, drawing several deep, calming breaths. When his temper had flared as a teenager, he’d been tempted to hit walls, the way his father had done so often. Trent had also engaged in a number of monumental fights—generally with bullies, figuring they deserved it anyway. It wasn’t comforting to remember that he’d deliberately sought them out, wanting to punch and be punched.

Over time he’d learned to control the urge, knowing a man who couldn’t manage himself couldn’t be trusted to boss anyone else. But he also hadn’t wanted to be the least bit like Gavin Hawkins. Spending so much time on Meadowlark Lane—Emily’s house—was going to test the man he’d tried to become.

Opening his eyes again, he found Emily watching him, her head cocked, as if trying to guess what he was thinking and feeling.

Fat chance.

No one in thirty-six years had managed it, and he was confident this flaky woman didn’t have a prayer.

* * *

ONCE EDUARDO GAVE the all clear on the gas lines, Emily went into the dining room to assist with removing the old chandelier. She couldn’t provide any serious help, but she handed tools up to Vince and took any small parts that came off, placing them carefully in a box. And when the entire unit came down, she helped lower it.

“I heard about someone who bought a house that had one of these that still worked,” she said.

“It happens,” Trent contributed. He’d been working nearby on the door frame, which had made Emily feel uncomfortable, though she wasn’t sure why. “Last year a man inherited his grandmother’s house and she’d been using her gaslights on a regular basis.”

Emily shivered. “It doesn’t sound safe.” She patted a wall. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re going to make sure you have safe wiring.” She glanced at Vince. “I guess it sounds silly, but I believe houses have personalities.”

Vince laughed in a kindly way, but Trent seemed less sympathetic.

Well, too bad.

She was tired of arrogant men who passed judgment on her—men such as her ex-fiancé, who also happened to be Lauren’s brother. Poor Lauren was the one who’d figured things out and spilled the truth about him cheating. Not that Dennis had been terribly upset when Emily confronted him. He’d seemed to think his sleeping with other women wasn’t a big deal... She shook the thought away. She was in Montana now, with a whole new life.

Midmorning she remembered the crystal she’d brought home from the Emporium, so she went and hung it in the window that pulled the most sunshine.

“Hey, what’s that?” Eduardo called, and came into the living room, with Trent following. “All of a sudden there are rainbows everywhere.”

Emily laughed. “I hoped that would happen. I love crystals, and some people say they have healing power and create positive vibes.”

Trent’s eyebrows rose.

She smiled blandly at him. “You never know.”

Eduardo nodded sagely. “I don’t know about the mystical stuff, but something that pretty must send something good into a place.”

Emily decided he’d just won her grateful-forever award.

The morning passed pleasantly, then during a coffee break she got a surprise from Mike.

“Emily, would you consider going out to dinner with me sometime?” he asked when they were sitting on the porch steps, enjoying the fresh air. The others had already gone back inside.

She blinked. Dating wasn’t something she’d expected to do in Schuyler. After breaking off her engagement she had decided romance wasn’t her thing. But Mike seemed nice and having dinner together didn’t necessarily mean romance. More than anything, he probably felt sorry for someone whose kitchen he’d just knocked into oblivion.

“That would be nice,” she replied.

“Would Saturday evening be good for you?”

“Sure.”

He smiled, drained his coffee cup and headed indoors.

Emily pursed her lips, unsure what to think. While she wasn’t the best judge, she hadn’t sensed that Mike was especially attracted to her. He certainly hadn’t acted the way guys did around her sister.

Oh, well. The evening out would be pleasant. Mike taught history to high school students during the school year. She enjoyed history, so they’d have plenty to talk about.

Inside the house, she glanced at Trent, who was pulling up the ancient carpet from the dining room floor. Dust was flying in a thick cloud, though she’d vacuumed the thing within an inch of its questionable life.

“Put on a dust mask if you’re staying,” he advised when she started coughing. “Though I won’t be offended if you head downtown or something.”

Once again she had the feeling he wanted her gone, but she only had his words to go by since his face was concealed by both a heavy dust mask and a pair of safety glasses. Anyhow, she probably should make an appearance at the shop.

“In that case, I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” she said.

He nodded and turned back to the carpet.

Emily walked down to the Emporium where she spoke to her manager, who reported everything was going well.

After going through the sales receipts to see if new stock needed to be ordered and chatting with a few customers, she strolled back to Meadowlark Lane. Inside the house she stared in amazement. The wall between the living and dining rooms had been knocked down to floor level, with only the weight-bearing four-by-four posts left standing. Caveman, Vince, Mike and Eduardo were on the roof, so Trent must have abandoned the dining room carpet to take the thing apart.

“Wow,” she said.

He must have worked like a man possessed to have gotten the wall demolished; most of the debris was even cleared away.

“We’ll put in the low divider wall you want,” he explained. “But the way it was built, it’s cleaner to pull everything down and rebuild. The support beams will need to be faced, and we’ll frame them at the top to echo the molding in both rooms. You’ve come up with a good plan. The change will create a more contemporary, open feeling without erasing the vintage appeal.”

The long statement seemed uncharacteristic, especially since his face remained hard and stony, and his admission about it being a “good plan” held a grudging tone. But there was nothing actually wrong in what he’d said, so she nodded and collected a broom to sweep up the remaining bits of plaster and dust.

* * *

“I’VE GOT THE list you emailed,” Alaina said into the phone on Thursday. “I’ll take A through H, okay?”

“That’s terrific,” Janet Goodwell told her. “Most people hate recruiting bachelors and bachelorettes for the auction and I have to do most of it myself. Of course, my arm-twisting skills will probably deteriorate because of your willingness.”

“If you prefer, I could just make cookies for Saturday’s bake sale,” Alaina suggested. It wasn’t what she preferred, but she didn’t want anyone to guess that she’d deliberately volunteered in order to be the one to recruit Mike.

“Don’t you dare,” Janet nearly screamed. “I’ve got cookies running out of my ears. I need recruiters.”

Alaina put down the phone with a satisfied smile. Joining the Volunteer Firefighters Auxiliary was the least she could do, considering the work they accomplished all over town. And when they’d announced it was time to prep for the annual barbecue and auction, she’d broken a speed record volunteering for the planning committee.

The others had laughed and assumed she’d done it to avoid being tagged as a potential bachelorette—members were barred from participating that way. But she’d had something far more devious in mind, including taking the first part of the alphabetical list of potential auction volunteers...the section with Mike Carlisle’s name.

Alaina glanced at the clock and picked up the receiver again to dial Emily.

“Hello, Alaina,” Emily greeted her cheerily. “How are you today?”

“I’m good. I just wondered if you wanted to get lunch. The Roundup Café makes a mean fire-grilled burger.”

“That would be great, except I ordered sandwiches for the guys. They’re going to be delivered by 11:30.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t you come over and join the party? We’ll have plenty of food.”

Alaina’s heart started rat-a-tat-tatting. She genuinely wanted to get acquainted with Emily, but she also wanted to run into Mike. Now she could end up eating lunch twice in one week with him. It wasn’t a date, but more contact than she usually managed.

“It sounds like fun,” she agreed. “But I want to bring something. What do you need?”

“How about chips? We have doughnuts left and I got a humongous container of fresh-made potato salad from the grocery deli.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, Alaina jumped to her feet. When she’d decided to come back to Montana, she had been sure she’d see Mike often. After all, he was friends with her brothers and several cousins, and as Trent’s office manager it had seemed a certainty Mike would cross her path frequently, at least during the summer. But he’d proven remarkably adept at treading a solitary path. She didn’t think he was avoiding her in particular; it was more a serious case of lone wolf syndrome.

Well, it was time to change all of that.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_b31f9a9f-34fb-5b67-8f97-49994387f431)

SOME OF THE tension eased from Trent as the crew broke for lunch. Emily’s absence had left him free to take down one of the problem walls and dispose of the debris, and he’d done it in record time. His pockets were stuffed with the bits and pieces he’d recovered, while the rest had been thrown into the far end of the Dumpster.

“Alaina is joining us for lunch,” Emily’s voice said in the next room, where she’d gone to answer her cell.

His gaze raced around the area to double-check, but there was nothing that might prove suspicious. Imagine if Alaina saw one of his painfully written notes proclaiming exactly what he thought of Gavin Hawkins? And hidden in one of the still-standing walls was the paper he’d tried to make sound very legal, stating that Trent Hawkins no longer had a father because Gavin Hawkins was a son of a bitch. The language on some of the other messages was even worse, learned courtesy of Gavin’s foul mouth.

The doorbell squawked and his stomach tightened. Emily hadn’t asked them to replace it, but surely she didn’t want to keep the atrocious-sounding bell. To never hear it again, he’d throw in a deluxe model and install it personally.

Emily stuck her head around one of the plastic curtains they’d hung to control dust from traveling as far. “Hey, the sandwiches are here. Are you hungry?”

Her smile was engaging and Trent was struck by surprise that she’d abandoned her previous life to move to Schuyler. Didn’t she have a boyfriend or family who’d objected? The McGregors had hated it when Alaina had been working in New York.

“Sure,” he answered truthfully. He’d skipped breakfast, something he couldn’t admit since he encouraged his crews to show up at work with good meals in their stomachs.

“I moved the card table and chairs to the patio since it’s so dusty in here,” she explained. “Come and get it.”

Come and get it.

A faint nostalgia went through him at hearing the expression his aunt Sarah...his mother often used. Mother or aunt... Even now he still mentally qualified his relationship with her, as he did with the whole family. Not that she’d ever insisted he call her Mom. Alaina said “Mom,” but she couldn’t remember any parents except Parker and Sarah McGregor.

Trent waited until Emily had disappeared then did another visual search of the space. As he walked toward the back of the house, Alaina popped through the front door.

“Hey, big brother. Don’t tell my boss, but I’m taking a long lunch today.”

His lips twitched, and he was surprised to discover his sense of humor wasn’t entirely absent, despite his self-imposed tenure on Meadowlark Lane.

“I won’t mention it to him,” he answered. “Emily says we’re eating on the patio.”

“Great. That’s one of the places I didn’t think about seeing the other day.”

He led her through the dining room and kitchen into the long mud porch that served also as a utility room along the side of the house. Curiously, the original design had the door to the backyard on the opposite end of the porch, so getting there was basically a zigzag.

“This is interesting,” Alaina murmured as they traversed the length of the porch away from the patio. “Isn’t there a door that opens directly into the backyard?”

“Not right now, but one of Emily’s renovations is to put a hallway along the dining room to a casual sitting room, with French doors onto the patio. She also wants us to cut another door on the mud porch and close off the existing one. That way food can be easily brought outside—she’s got a thing about creating outdoor living space.”

Reluctant as Trent was to admit it, Emily’s plans for the house weren’t bad. Montana wasn’t Los Angeles, so there were fewer months where outdoor living was feasible, but everyone in Schuyler flocked outside when the weather was mild enough. And her plan for a well-equipped outdoor kitchen would be the envy of cooks all over town.

“Oooh,” Alaina breathed as they followed the path around the side of the house. “This is lovely.”

The rough brick patio was scented by a trellis covered by honeysuckle. The large yard was overgrown, but multicolored wildflowers provided a kaleidoscope background of hues.

“Hi,” Emily greeted Alaina. “I should have warned you the seating is makeshift in this restaurant.”

“The atmosphere makes up for it. I just wish I remembered living here,” Alaina said, wistfully.

“You used to live here?” Eduardo asked.

“Before our folks were gone.”

“Sure, sure, I remember now. It was before you moved out with the McGregors. So this is where Gavin and Fiona lived.” Eduardo looked around. “I was real sorry about what happened to them. I remember Gavin saying he had the best kids and wanted to have a dozen before he and Fiona were through.”

“Really?” Alaina asked, her face alight. “I never knew that.”

“Your dad and me went to school together and I used to see him around town. We weren’t exactly friends. He just made everyone feel like his best buddy. What a great guy.”





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